


And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

by azhdarchidaen



Series: Crossroads [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, like angst but with space hot chocolate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:59:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4924066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azhdarchidaen/pseuds/azhdarchidaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's only a few months into journeying through the portal, but even with the intervention of two strangers, Ford is starting to realized just how hard it is to try to get home -- the long way 'round.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Clara took a deep breath, letting the aroma of whatever she’d just sniffed of in the alien market she and the Doctor were exploring fill her senses completely. Like cinnamon and chocolate and hazelnuts all wrapped into a very tempting bundle.“Okay, _that_ ,” she said, “ _That_ smells fantastic, can we get that?”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Have you got a way to pay for it?”

“I have, in fact, thank you very much,” she replied. “‘Course if you’re asking that means you went and lost the--”

“Sh sh sh shh shhhh,” he interrupted, holding up a finger. She frowned and crossed her arms.

“Look, if you don’t want to admit you lost it--”

“No no no no no, not that,” he said drawing in closer. “ _Listen._ ”

Sure enough, there seemed to be the sounds of some sort of struggle in the distance. Indecipherable shouting, largely, but a struggle nonetheless.

“Think we should check that out, then?” she asked.

The Doctor was already sprinting in the right direction.

***

 

“Checking that out” turned out to be a decision that, from what Clara could assess of the situation, might seriously benefit a certain party involved. There weren’t actually many signs of struggle -- it looked like the argument and resulting skirmish had been very one-sided.

She and the Doctor arrived long after any action had passed, only to see one of the market vendors --  a big, purple guy with four arms and as many eyes -- dangling a struggling brown-haired human man in the air, by the neck of his fraying trench coat, with the lower pair of limbs. And from the look of the man’s split lip and half-closed swelling right eye, the other set had been busy too. The alien was yelling rapidly at the apparently-offending party, something about stealing and being “shifty-looking” and dragging him off to places where “people like him” belonged.

Although if the confused look on the human’s face was any indication, he hadn’t the faintest what he was even being accused of.

“Bah, some kind of local trouble,” the Doctor said, sounding disappointed.

“Doctor!” Clara said indignantly. “Do you mean to say you’re not going to help him?”

“Well petty thievery is a bit more boring than I was hoping for, but--”

“I can’t believe you,” Clara said, shaking her head and stepping closer to the stall the scuffle was happening in.

“Clara, wait--” the Doctor said in one of the _why-do-you-always-go-and-anger-the-alien-menaces_ voices he used when she started to take things into her own hands. “I didn’t mean I wasn’t going to--come back-- _Clara._ ”

She ignored him. “What exactly seems to be the problem here?” she asked, using the same, attempt-at-authoritative voice she’d try on a couple of disagreeing students in her classroom. As quadruple eyes narrowed in her direction, she briefly entertained the thought that she might have just gone and made herself a new target. But she just crossed her arms in response and narrowed her own back, hoping all 5’2” of her supported her chances.

“ _Thief_ ,” the vendor spat, finally speaking. He shook the collar of the coat he was gripping slightly as he did, as if to emphasize the object of his accusations, and the man swung like a ragdoll. “When my back was turned, he tried to take a--”

The man’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me you’ve been capable of speaking English this _entire time_?”

“He hasn’t exactly,” Clara said quickly, before the merchant could devolve further into his starting to call the accused party "some kind of crazy man” for his gibberish. The translation circuits kicking in was always a bit tricky to explain. “He does think you stole something though, which I’d _really_ suggest trying to sort out now that it’s clearer.”

“I didn’t take anything!” he said, wiping away a bit of blood from his lip as he spoke. “All I did was pick up a device I was curious about and suddenly I was in this gentleman’s…” he gritted his teeth “ _rather tight_ grip.”

“Liar!” the alien spat back. “You put your hands on it, and I know your type -- crawling in here shabby and half-starved and--”

“--Do you actually have _any_ proof beyond his appearance?” Clara sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her earlier mental comparison was apt -- this was _exactly_ like mediating a dispute between students. Although she would concede that the man’s generally desperate look wasn’t doing him many favors.

There was an awkward lull at her interjection, and the Doctor finally stepped into the conversation. “If he hasn’t got the object in his possession it’s not exactly stealing, is it?”

“He still tried to--”

“You can’t just beat somebody up for a crime they didn’t _actually_ commit!” Clara shouted, indignant. “ I think you’ve _clearly_ prevented him from having any success,” she added, gesturing to his injuries, “Just let him go!”

There were several seconds of tension as the arguing parties made awkward eye contact, one furious and the other best described as “defensively apologetic”. But they ended as the man was flung -- not dropped, unfortunately, as Clara had really _meant_ to happen -- to the dusty ground. She winced a bit at the _thud._

“Get lost, vagrant,” the vendor muttered to the crumpled figure on the ground as he retreated back into his shop.

The small crowd that had gathered to watch the altercation dispersed almost immediately, no one wanting to be associated with the apparent loser any longer than necessary, and Clara rushed forward to the fallen man, the Doctor trailing more cautiously behind.

“Are you alright?” she asked, gently easing a hand to his back as he pulled himself up. He patted the ground around them absentmindedly before answering her question, and Clara realized he was searching for the battered pair of glasses not far from where she was crouching. She picked them up and handed them to him. “Here.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking them from her hand and pushing them on, “and... I’m sure I’ll live. Just a bit bruised."

“You’re not from around here,” the Doctor said bluntly as Clara helped the man to his feet. She had to agree with the assessment -- he looked more plucked from a London (or American, considering the accent) roadside than an alien planet.

“Could say the same for yourself,” the man said, brushing himself off as he took in both Clara and the Doctor’s appearance.

“No, I mean you’re _really_ not from around here,” the Doctor continued. “Anyone in their right mind from the sector would know Caldorian merchants consider physical contact intent to purchase… but you’ve come even farther than that, haven’t you?”

He suddenly looked defensive, and more than a bit upset. “Alright, I’m a bit of a fish out of water, but I promise you--”

“-- _Interdimensional_ water?” the Doctor asked, and the man’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How did you--”

“From the manner of dress and syntax I’d estimate 20th century Earth, of course,” the Doctor continued, “Which in itself would make it a bit of a feat for you to be here. But the timeline convergences around you are some of the messiest I’ve ever seen -- and I’m traveling with the amazing divisible girl.”

“Now you shut it,” Clara said.

The man’s mouth was hanging open now in a state of confused shock. She felt more than a little sorry for him -- thrown from one baffling accusation to this almost immediately. “I am so sorry,” she apologized. “He’s rubbish at conversation starters -- conversation at all, really. If you’re not--”

“--What do you know about dimensional travel?” he said shakily. “Do you know how to refine it? How to… how to set destinations?”

“What I’m curious over is how you know about it at all,” the Doctor said.

“Really?” Clara said. “ _Really,_ we’re just going to go from one interrogation to another?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” the man said, tiredly but now sounding more than slightly interested.

“Good, then we can discuss this immediately,” the Doctor said.

“Doctor!” Clara said. She turned to their new acquaintance. “Look, before we intervened we, we were about to get something to eat… or, you know, possibly drink, I don’t actually know. Just that it smelled great. If you’re really going to let this overgrown stick insect pester you, can we at least take you someplace to sit down and recover a little?”

“If you insist,” he said awkwardly, looking like he didn’t know what to make of the invitation.

“I do,” said Clara.

The Doctor just sighed. “Trust me. She’s very persuasive.”

 

***

 

“I apologize if it’s a sensitive subject, but I gather you’re also not from around here?” the man said to her as they sat -- the Doctor having “popped back” to the TARDIS, he informed Clara, to get something -- at chairs under the awning of the stall that had, in fact, been selling the what-turned-out-to-be-beverages that she’d sniffed earlier. Like a mix between hot chocolate and she didn’t know what, but they both had steaming cups and she could already tell she’d be disappointed when it was gone.

“Oh no,” she said. “Not really. I’m 100% Earthling, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And your… companion... too?”

“He’s another story entirely, trust me. But I promise you, I’m from Blackpool, not Betelgeuse.”

“And you…?” he trailed off, staring down into his cup. There was an odd tone, a bit like his voice cracking, and he couldn’t seem to get any more words out.

“Hey now,” she said softly, “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Her brain suddenly turning to things like checking for concussions. Which she _really_ should have thought to do earlier.

“No, no,” he said quickly. “I just,” he breathed in deeply, clutching his cup as if to ground him, “I haven’t exactly seen another person -- a human being, I mean, one that I could talk with -- for months, not since…” he trailed off again, his face suddenly distraught.

There was an awkward pause as Clara simply waited patiently. She didn't want to interfere if he needed a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally collecting himself from his memories “I shouldn’t be--”

“--Don’t you _dare_ apologize,” she said firmly, putting a hand on his and squeezing it in a gesture of comfort. What exactly had this man been through? He gave her a weak smile.

“And if that’s the case,” she continued, “you _really_ deserve some proper introductions. I’m Clara Oswald, and the grumpy space know-it-all that’s been bossing you around is called ‘the Doctor’.”

“Ford,” he said back, slowly, “my name is Ford.”

“And it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she smiled reassuringly. But before they could continue, a familiar face had popped back up beside them.

“Right,” the Doctor said. “Interdimensional travel. Tricky business with the habit of tearing the universe apart if you’re not careful, so I suspect in the future you may be wanting this.”

As he spoke, he placed what appeared to be a glass ball on the table in front of them, pushing it towards Ford.

“...A snowglobe?” Ford asked incredulously, picking it up and turning it over in his hands.

“That’s no ordinary glass, and I think you’ll know what to do with it when the time comes,” was all the Doctor said. “In other business though, I think you’ll also be wanting _this_."

He pulled out the little datacard this planet used to load currency, the exact one Clara had suspected him of losing earlier.

“You had it all along!” she said indignantly.

“I left it back at the TARDIS because I told you, I don’t _need_ one,” he replied.

Ford’s eyes widened as he realized the flimsy piece of technology was identical to the one Clara had used to pay for their drinks. “No, no,” he said. “I-- you don’t have to--”

“--It hasn’t got a fortune on it, don’t stammer,” the Doctor said, shoving it across the table in Ford’s direction. “I wasn’t even going to use it. Clara just doesn’t understand that I have no interest in _shopping_.”

She just rolled her eyes at him. Someday -- _someday_ she'd figure out a gift she could actually give the Time Lord.

“Thank you,” Ford replied, accepting it hesitantly. “I suppose now I’m more than obligated to answer you, aren’t I?”

“Answers?” the Doctor said. “You know, I never actually said I was going to ask you any questions. Just that it was curious. You both apparently just have a talent for making assumptions”

Clara and Ford exchanged glances, eyebrows raised,

“And so you’re helping me because…?” Ford asked.

“Because I can recognize a traveler who’s far from home,” the Doctor said. “I’d offer you a lift if I could, but something tells me the Earth I can get you to wouldn’t be the proper one.”

“...Not exactly”

The Doctor sighed. “In a similar situation myself actually. You’d think entire _planets_ would be better at staying in their proper dimensions.”

"Erm... I wasn't aware that it was a common problem?"

"More common than you'd think," The Doctor said cryptically, taking a seat to join Ford and Clara at the table.

The three of them sat there, chatting a bit -- though Clara noted she was really the only proficient conversationalist in the group and definitely the one who kept it going -- until the drinks were gone and the planet’s orange suns had slipped low into the evening sky. It was about then that Ford started looking self-consciously at the empty tables around them.

“I should probably get moving,” he said to them. “It's getting late And... as we’ve discussed, I think I’ve still got an awful lot of traveling to do.”

“And best of luck to you,” Clara said, squeezing his hand again one last time.

“Just try to avoid Dimension 113, if you can,” the Doctor supplied in way of a farewell.

"...I'll do my best."

 

***

 

The two of them lingered a bit longer, as they watched the man’s figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance and night fall completely.

“Do you think he actually does it?” Clara asked, eventually.

“Does what?” the Doctor said.

“Gets home, I mean,” she said.

“We all try,” the Doctor said nonchalantly, as if there were no meaning to it more than that.

“You know something,” she said. “You know something, and you’re not telling me -- that’s why you popped back to the TARDIS and helped him, it's because you know something.”

“That’s not _why_ I did it,” the Doctor said. “I’d have done it regardless. But I have my suspicions.”

“What do you mean suspicions?”

The Doctor waved his hand. “Speculation, Clara, speculation. I just noticed his fingers.”

“His what?”

“Twelve,” the Doctor said. “Six on each hand. A symbol I’ve learned to associate with a particularly pesky dream creature with ideas beyond his station. Bit annoying really. But if your friend does have anything to do with him, he’s going to want that containment unit I gave him.”

“ _My_ friend?” Clara said grinning. “You liked him enough too, go on, admit it.”

“Pleasant company for an afternoon,” the Doctor said, rising from his chair. “A pause in both our journeys. But you don’t want to go pausing forever.”

Silence again.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me something similar,” Clara said. “About a ‘long way to travel’ still or whatever.”

“Always,” the Doctor said. “As long as you still want to come along.”

She shook her head. There were only so many lonely travelers you could help in a day, weren't there?

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

  
  
  



End file.
